Hype! (The Len Levinson Collection Book 7) by Len Levinson & Leonard Jordan

Author:Len Levinson & Leonard Jordan [Levinson, Len]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Destroyer Books
Published: 2016-05-19T00:00:00+00:00

At ten-thirty that evening, Larry Walters arrived home at his apartment in the Forest Hills section of Queens.

His wife Dora, a blond Blimp in a red housedress, arose from the sofa and walked toward the hallway, where he hung up his chesterfield. “You’re home early,” she said happily.

“I’m hungry,” he replied.

She kissed his stubbled cheek. “What would you like, dear?”

“Lots.”

“You can’t eat lots. Remember your diet.”

“If I had to choose between starving to death, and having a heart attack, I’d rather take the heart attack.”

“Should I set the dining room table for you?”

“I’d rather sit in the kitchen near the food.”

Like an elephant she walked to the kitchen, and he entered the living room, furnished like a Miami Beach hotel lobby, continuing to his bedroom, furnished like a Miami Beach hotel room. Dora had chosen all the furniture because when they’d moved, Larry had been too busy with his important clients, some of whom had since become unimportant, to help her. But he thought she did a pretty good job. He undressed, and in his shorts and a T-shirt, washed his face and hands in the bathroom sink. Then he put on blue pajamas and calfskin slippers, and picking up his briefcase, carried it into the kitchen, where Dora was arranging plates of food in a solar system around the place where he’d sit. He saw half a roast chicken, gefilte fish, kugel, stuffed derma, and two pots bubbling over flames on the stove. Her perfume nearly overwhelmed the cooking odors.

“What’re you cooking?”

“I’m warming up some flanken and tzimmes.”

“I said I’m hungry but I’m all alone here.”

“I’ll sit and have a bit with you.”

“I’m going to do some work.”

“Then I’ll sit and have a bite in front of the TV.”

Larry grunted and sat down. In terms of the food she consumed, she had the bite of a hippopotamus.

“I got a letter from Davey today,” she said, stirring a pot. Davey was their eighteen-year-old son, a junior at Boston University.

“What did he have to say?”

“He said he’s in love.”

“Is she white or black?”

“He didn’t say.”

He groaned, reached for the chicken, and tore off its leg. This was something new to worry about. “Did he say anything about school?”

“Nothing.”

“Did he say anything about anything else?”

“He asked for two hundred dollars.” She picked the pot of flanken off the stove, carried it to the table, then dumped the meat and gravy into a huge bowl. “I already sent it to him. He said it was an emergency.”

“You shouldn’t have sent it.”

“He said it was an emergency.”

“He seems to have an emergency every week. He’s got to learn to get along on his allowance.”

“He says it isn’t enough.”

“It’s enough to support a family of three in Boston, according to the statistics.”

“He’s my only son and I can’t refuse him.”

He looked at her mountainous bosom and fifty-dollar woop-swoop platinum blond hairdo. “I can.”

“That’s because you don’t love him as much as I do.”

Larry speared a strip of flanken and brought it to his plate. “Just because you love him, that’s no reason to spoil him.

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